Countdown to Liftoff
by Phritzie
Summary: They were almost there. Even if they didn't really know what there was, yet. McCoy!POV. Can be taken as slash or not. Part of the Coffee, Jim? series but can be read alone.


**A/N:** Has now been looked over by a beta. Thanks SO much to stargirl0507. :D

**Disclaimer:** Do not own. Too poor.

**Warnings**: None, really. Leonard has a potty mouth? Slash if you squint.

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So. This was it then, wasn't it?

Leonard couldn't have imagined how quickly the end of the academic year had come if he had tried. In the rush and anxiety of finals, there hadn't been time to mourn the Narada incident. As if by silent mutual agreement, everyone, even the admiralty, just kept moving forward. Getting the old cadets off the ground and recruiting new blood. That was their prerogative now.

The truth in itself was fairly grim. Starfleet would be releasing one third of its projected graduating class into space. The other fraction of those cadets had, of course, been pronounced MIA or deceased months prior, and though it also wasn't spoken of, a memorial was undergoing construction on the lawn. Before its erection, those who did take the time to bleed grieved by placing wreathes and flowers by the doors of the deceased's dorm rooms. The memorial was supposed to inspire closure. Still, professors mourned bright, young minds. Friends, lovers, and families wept. Roommates were left with an unsatisfying sense of peace in the permanent absence of those they had gotten used to being unhappy with. Quiet became common.

It was unsettling.

"Are you even going to _look_ at your bagel?" Len muttered without heart, eyeing his friend with more than a little bit of concern. Jim hadn't said anything for the past ten minutes, staring out at the view of campus the window of their little booth provided. They were currently haunting a coffee shop. It was a simple, busy café on the edge of the grounds. The perpetuation of its existence as a necessary ingredient to daily life was more apparent than ever. Most cadets and professors alike found solace in a caffeine-aided morning, or some other manner of mundane distraction from the paperwork and the up and coming stresses of service.

The only indication Jim gave that he had heard Leonard was an upturn at the corner of his lips, before he replied, "Of course," and blindly swiped it off the table. The resulting almost-capsizing of Leonard's macchiato and unflattering swell of Jim's cheeks turned heads. "Oopsh." A light tint speckled his now-over-pronounced cheekbones.

"Yeah, 'oops'," the southern doctor bit out. He mopped up the spill his coffee had taken. Though it was otherwise unharmed, the abruptness of it had still provoked a few unkind words, and Jim swallowed his mouthful of bagel before grinning sheepishly, redness subsiding at the attention they were receiving. It had been nothing more than a manly coloring, anyway. Jim Kirk didn't blush.

"'m sorry, Bones," he amended, wetting his lips and swallowing again, "just a lil' distracted."

Leonard couldn't grudge him that. They _were_ getting their ship assignments tomorrow, and then the week after _that_, they would be declared fit for active duty and shipped off to some place. He couldn't blame Jim for wanting to take in some kind of lasting image of the academy. It had been their home for nearly four years. Although, certainly, it wasn't really what Leonard would _want_ to call home- that just came with the territory of being a deprived father. It was more a home away from home. Leonard's true sense of home was a little girl, with dark brown eyes, and her mother's dirty blond hair; but a comm at least twice a month and some time with Joanna in person on the holidays satisfied that particular longing at least to a minimum. Jim didn't even have that. His mother was off on an assignment in deep space, who-the-hell-knew-where, and while they occasionally did comm, to catch up, Leonard had observed that it was more perfunctory and duty than anything. Not to mention that Jim's only brother now had his own family to take care of. That, and while Jim's relationship with Sam _was_ amicable- that didn't mean it was easy.

So whenever spring break rolled around, Leonard McCoy was the one who swore and fussed when Jim wanted to go to the beach and insisted they go half naked. During the summer, he lived through the hell of preparatory classes and studying late into the night with boy wonder bouncing on the bed next to him, asking if _that_ was the night he would 'wise up' and see the pure, worthwhile humor in slashing Admiral Barnett's hovercar hydraulics. Which, of course, he did _not_, ever; until maybe the day of the disciplinary hearing. He was the one who sacrificed his liver to nights out and the occasional lazy night in, and he was the one who patched Jim up when he messed up his face in some local haunt. Leonard was his friend, but he liked to think of himself as more than that, too. He was Jim's family. And more often than not, the feeling of codependency went both ways.

Above all things, Leonard had come to realize that he did not have the fortitude, or even the want, to consider about what would happen if he wasn't assigned to a ship with Jim. Even foregoing that slightly terrifying possibility- the kid had a commendation to accept. And he knew _exactly _what it would mean.

_Captaincy. Seperation. _

Jim had become more of a comfort to him than his place at the academy itself. In the face of that glaring truth, he was unwilling to accept what that would mean for him when Jim was essentially awarded the keys to the _Enterprise_.

"Now you're the one who's being quiet," Jim teased knowingly, an ironic smile firmly in place. He had yet to give in to the pressures of reality. Jim Kick was not unfamiliar with denial. At least some things never changed.

Leonard supposed that was fair. "You're right. Can't help it, though. All these goddamn formalities… Needless pomp. Endless grief. And time isn't stopping for us, no matter what you do; subroutine, fight, fuck, or flee. Everything that's in store for us is.. _completely _beyond our control. _My _control. What the hell are we gonna do, Jim?" The question was quiet. And maybe a bit too vulnerable. His forehead creased as he realized how desperate the unspoken fear had sounded, and Jim's eyes widened marginally before he was awarded with a loud, relieved laugh. Chastised, the doctor drank from his rapidly cooling cup with a forced scowl, eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement.

"I don't know," Jim finally admitted, suddenly serious, honesty in the set of his jaw. "But I do know what we're not going to do." His shoulders tightened, as if resolve had taken root in his marrow. "We're not gonna regret shit. You know? And we won't have to. We'll end up where we're supposed to be, because if the universe can't be bothered to revolve around us, it might as well let us have a sweet future. Right?"

Leonard had never really thought Jim to be the type to put faith in destiny before. "Right." It didn't sound as convincing out loud as it had on the inside. Because of that, he tried again. "You're _absolutely right_."

That was better, sort of. He'd work on it.

But even now, his best friend never ceased to amaze him. Jim reached across the laminate tabletop to grasp one of Leonard's hands in what might have been a consoling gesture, eliciting a surprised grunt and an aborted attempt at retrieving the appendage, before it was too far away for him to really do anything about it. He huffed, and drummed the fingers of his free hand against the surface of the booth's cushioning nervously, flustered and awaiting with little patience for his personal space to be recognized.

"Jim, come on now. No regrets? Remember?" The words were half-hearted. In a way, it felt nice. Girly, but it warmed him.

Jim simply ignored his mediocre protests and held the large, rough hand in his own.

"Bones?"

Leonard sighed, not anticipating any good from this. "Yeah, Jim?"

Blue eyes flirted up at him from behind sunny-golden lashes. "I don't want us to ever forget one another." His trepidation was replaced by irritated amusement, but the hyperbole of Jim Kirk didn't tend to end there. "We'll always have San Diego, and, y'know, the 'fleet- but, before it's all over, Bones- _Leonard_," Jim stressed, and paused. Probably for what he could only assume the man thought was passable dramatic effect.

"Promise we'll never forget each other?" Here now. He was getting a little too old for this. "And.. will you marry me? Bones, I know I'm a tomcat-"

"Christ, Jim."

"-but I swear, I want to grow old with you, Bones-"

"You little _shit_-"

"Is that a yes?" Jim wheedled innocently, beaming.

"Shut up and let me drink my coffee, kid."

A snort. The expression on Leonard's face was not even vaguely profound, but eyes _are_ the windows to the soul. He was smiling, if only on the inside.

But they didn't say anything else. Preferring to sit in silence, and sip their coffee- at least they knew that they were both there in that café, then, and not in two separate quadrants, ruminating uselessly on the uncertainty of a week from now. The silence that fell over them was comfortable, and easy.

Familiar.

For that, Leonard was grateful, and somehow maybe Jim's reassurances would turn out to be right.

In fact_..._ he couldn't picture it any other way.

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**A/N:** Reviews are the purest form of love. Really.


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